Monday, December 25, 2006


Happy birthday Jesus
You're 2006 years old today, they opine
They call it Christmas
The season when all's happy and fine
But I still see bitterness around
And sadness still spread
Despair and violence still abound
And many with neither water nor bread
'Friends' at each other's throats
Others at work behind backs
Talking and biting, the wily turncoats
Some at work with knives and hacks
Why the hate, why the spite?
Why does all the faith and trust go for a toss?
One by one, they all fall on a lonely night
Looking for names to blame for their loss
I know you have the answers to all
It's we who don't know where to look
You reply through what we know as the Soul
While we stonedly scour every religious book
Religion is not my cup of tea
Nor is theology into what i delve
But alas, peace within us is what we can never see
Heck, I'll just lie back and listen to 2112

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Loneliness vs Solitude

"There is a difference between loneliness and solitude. Loneliness is boring, whereas in solitude you can inspect and examine your deeds and thoughts."
- Sudha Murthy in 'How I Taught My Grandmother To Read and other stories'
There is no way I can deny the former sentence. The latter I can only partly agree with...
It's probably up to how you visualise loneliness - in my view, there are those that see loneliness as a depressing factor, some convert every moment of loneliness into solitude, using or utilising each moment to reflect on some thought or the other, and then there are those that are absolutely unperturbed by loneliness, some even oblivious to it... some preferring to stay that way out of choice. It's a tricky period - loneliness certainly is. The surreal sound of silence, the serenity of oneness, away from the crowds, away from din... it can be your peace, it can be your undoing. Either way, it can be your release. You are warned...

Saturday, December 16, 2006

How do only wise guys always end up saying famous quotes?

I thought I'd add a touch of wisdom to this page. And since wisdom is not my best drinking buddy, I shall just go out with others' drinking buddies (or, in saner words, I will just mooch off on others' wise words).

"I don't know the secret of success, but the secret of failure is to try to please everybody." --Bill Cosby
(Woohoo... upside is that I managed to crack at least some secret. At least according to Bill Cosby's analysis)

"I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use." - Galileo Galilei
(Easy for him to say that. He was a physicist+astronomer+philosopher. I'm the average-ugly-fat-Joe)

"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." - Martin Luther King Jr. (1929-1968)
(Friends who? Guess Mr. Martin Luther King Jr. doesn't know of my average-ugly-fat-Joe status)

"If you are going through hell, keep going." - Sir Winston Churchill (1874-1965)
(I guess it's definitely better than staying still in a dark place. At least if you're moving, you might get into some trouble and end up making someone laugh as you get hurt)

"Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung." - Voltaire (1694-1778)
(... and/or blogged)

Sarcasm: the last refuge of modest and chaste-souled people when the privacy of their soul is coarsely and intrusively invaded. - Fyodor Dostoevski
(Guilty as charged... hehehe)

Saturday, December 02, 2006

The Trial

What's the verdict? Guiltier than thou? Spared and exiled to exoneration-nation? I love you prosecutors (at least some of you for sure) but frankly, I grew oblivious of the trial eons ago. I really thank you prosecutors (not just some... but all). You've shown me how innocence is not a plain colour like black or white - somewhere in my indifference I found that innocence is a coat of grey with some green and some more red thrown in. I have nothing against the plaintiff. I bear no ill towards the judge. I don't even oppose the plaintiff himself doubling up as the judge here. He was wronged and this certainly is no court of law. He seeks justice but since that is another grey area itself, I will just hope he finds his peace. And who am I to oppose the double-play? I am part-defence-attorney myself. Alas, my co-defendant, who is actually the prime accused here, may not be in sure hands. That's perhaps wherein the error lies. You've labeled the wrong defendant the prime accused. Set the defendant free, please. Pass me the noose, if you please.
The defence rests its case (if any)

Thursday, November 23, 2006

To Forgive

Shallow as a puddle.
Gone green. But only perhaps to avoid going white
White, the colour of a pure soul
Ironically, also the colour of a shamed, weary face

Bent over with the burden
An unerasable mark
Is it? Where's the ray of light?
An arrow on the wall, perhaps?

Seek a power - the power to forgive.
The eraser to obliterate this mark,
The hole for the light to peep through
And shine upon the arrow
On the wall of blame
It shows the way out
Of this hall of shame

Tuesday, November 21, 2006


You actually thought I was perfect???
Get the r out of this friend
Now, perhaps, that's more like me

Saturday, November 18, 2006

24 hrs to Time-Zero

I'm not numb today. That might be helpful although it's not the feeling I'm used to just before an exam. With 24 hrs to go, things might change and I might go the usual deadskin way in due course. But I like this non-numbness. It's new and it's exhilarating. Not that I'm in the best of shapes to appear and crack the test. But it definitely looks like a new challenge. The non-numbness might just (let me stick out and say 'will certainly' instead) accentuate the sensation in the aftermath. I'm definitely ready for it. The whiplash or the smooth caress (and I hope it'll be the latter), whatever's in store, I'm ready for it. Ready to feel it. I'm not numb today. Dumb perhaps.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Dear God

Hi. A little request. May I please have my next two doses of miracles in advance this Sunday?

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Bad week

Back after quite some time. 3 weeks to be precise. Sucks to return on a bad note but hey, that's the way it is. Not the best week. Thought away from work would turn out cool. Turns out holidays are breaks from the monotony (aka work) when all the shit that's piled up out of your sight comes to the fore.
This week stinks.
It better end on a high note. Can't afford to have it end ANY other way (fingers crossed, now trying to cross toes)

p.s. Beware. I'm gonna be home (the real deal... not the 'home away from home') for a few days. And I'm a little messed (if I can ever be). SOOooooo... there might be regular posts here. (Do I hear a shriek fading in the distance?)

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Lesson for the day (where day == yesterday)

Giving is good
Giving what you earned is better
Giving it to the ones who have given to you all your life is the best

some Iced Earth to while away the wasted days

Been listening to the few songs of theirs that I have on my home pc ever since last weekend. This 'vacation' was weird. Can't make up my mind whether it was good enough or not. Might try and weigh the pros and cons a little later maybe. Off the top of my head, I could list out stuff I would've wanted to happen to me in these 4 days, people that I would've wanted to meet and other crib-list-items. Too lazy to do all that now. For now, Iced Earth is the sound in my ears. I need a portable music player... badly. It's making its way up my things-to-buy-on-priority list.
note to self: also on priority list - to finish off '1984' (it's friggin impressive)

Wednesday, October 18, 2006


With a brush of the hand
He wipes the blood off his face
It just leaves behind more sweat and grime instead
With vigour anew he rises
He stumbles but rises again
Once more for all those that he has bled
The principles, the people
His barricaded self, the ultimate steeple

Again he rises
He cares nought of another fall
He'll fight to the end
Till he has ended it all

Again he rises.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Lesson for the day

If even after a month your boss doesn't know your name, you've got MAJOR room for improvement (lightly put)

Monday, October 16, 2006

good sporting weekend

The title says it all. United won on Saturday and then India thrashed the mother-country in their very own sport on Sunday. I said it before, I'll say it again - Good sporting weekend

In United's match on Sat, the first half gave the impression of yet another below-par performance against a low team away from Trafford. Then came half-time and with it came the difference. Off the field, the difference could have been Sir Alex giving the team a piece of his mind (perhaps, accompanied by some flying objects a la shoe-thrown-at-Becks) or anything else that we fans don't get to see. But on field, the difference was one single incidence: the introduction of the Welsh Wizard, Ryan Joseph Giggs. In the second half, United was a team transformed and seemingly possessed. Majority of the second half was played in Wigan's half. Rooney was in a class of his own and that he didn't end up with his name on the scoresheet was perhaps the only blot on an amazing show put up by United. He did hit the crossbar once in the first half, and created Saha's goal with a sublime cross with the outside of his right foot in the second half. But it's that single goal that still eludes him (which I see coming his way soon what with Liverpool at Old Trafford this weekend). United could have finished the match 5-1 considering a few, fairly simple missed chances but nothing to take away the credit for this 3-1 victory which was built in an amazingly powerful second half.

The Indian cricket team rounded off the weekend for me with a good win over England. Was good to see Pathan and Munaf with a lethal opening spell. Pathan's deadly swing was long overdue and Munaf's Man-of-the-match was thoroughly deserved. A pity that our only in-form pacer Agarkar could not cash in on the fantastic start provided by the opening pacers (yes, with Pathan finally managing an average 130kph in this match, I am reslotting him as a pacer). The spinners pulled off a good finishing job although I was surprised to see Powar getting more wickets than Bhajji but then it was the former who dared to fox those Angrezi ballebaaz with inviting curves (I'm talking of the bowler tossing the ball and not of the bowler himself). The Indian openers, faced with chasing a below-modest 126, set about their tasks with some good assistance from Steve Harmison who mistook the fielder at fine leg for the batsman and sent one ball straight to the boundary-line. Of course, Sehwag had to repay that favor by handing over his wicket in the most despicable manner: throwing his bat out at a ball aimed at first-slip. Pathan came to the rescue again, first ball, now bat. He ably supported Tendulkar, who showed the Angrez their aukaat by driving a few sublimely to the boundary. Of course, India is India, so they had to make the target of 126 seem as large as 326 and they duly lost some wickets towards the end. But, Yuvraj, who thankfully didn't lose his head and his wicket in consequence, led us to a fairly deserved victory.

One last time - Good sporting weekend

p.s. In other good news, Rossi took the lead in the 500cc championship this weekend and that sets the stage for a good ending at the final race of the season.

p.s.++ I 'm praying Schumi extends this goodness into next week and pulls off a miracle.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Boy of Anger

I had yet another of my famous fits of rage yesterday. Chosen victim of attack: my brother. The victims are more often than not either (or more than one) of my brother, mom or dad. They get to see a lot of Angry-Me, unfortunately. On the brighter side, now that I don't live at home anymore, they get to see Angry-Me only on the weekends at most. I ain't at home during the week to verify but I'm still willing to bet that the decibel levels at home have gone down since I moved out. I sympathize with them because they've had to bear the brunt of my directionless rage for no particular reason at times. From my wannabe-rebel (definitely without a cause) to depression, theyve heard me shouting through it all. It's a wonder they aren't deaf yet. It's a greater wonder I wasn't been disowned years ago. Seriously, it is tough living with me.
I've always had a major anger hanger on me ever since I've consciously remembered time. It's been a family trait in some ways. If it wasn't, I've made it one. I remember, as a kid, trying to find innovative ways of winning slanging matches with the elders in the house. One fine day, I saw moviefolk on tv expressing their anger by smashing crockery (which always seemed to be conviniently at hand whenever they got angry) with a cry of anguish and a touch of hamming + overacting. I was fascinated by that because after that scene, the plate-smashing dude would generally end up having his way in the movie. Inspired and charged up, I decided to implement this form of protest during my next tantrum. The next time I got angry I armed myself with a steel plate at hand. Little miracle that I should heed the little voice of reason that throwing a steel plate to the ground might be a safer option as compared to subjecting glass or china to the same treatment. Right in the middle (it actually turned out to be the end) of my tantrum show, I sent the steel plate clanging to the floor with all the intensity my little hands could muster and with all the ferocity my face could portray. It was a random moment during the spanking that followed when I realized that not all stunts on reel are as efficient in real.
Through the years that followed, my expressions of rage took new forms. From manipulation to cheekiness to bitterness to momentary vents, all were tried and put to use. It's not something I am particularly proud of, and I would certainly prefer to have stronger reins on my temper. And athough the hot-headedness has certainly reduced in the last two years, thanks to some stability kicking in, it does hit a vein when I think about the hard times I've put my own people through during my rage rides.
To each one of them (if they ever read this) - You'd better forgive me or else... grrrr...

Tragedy on Lap 37

The cameras catch glimpses of thick smoke cloud
My heart-rate rises with the clearing white shroud

To my dismay, it makes way for the colour red
To my horror, it's the car, which from the start, has led

To them, the king, now, is no more than a wraith
But I still believe in miracles, I still have the faith

Monday, October 02, 2006

WIll she?

She asks me all the time why I'm alone
I wonder if that's concern or humour in her tone
She's not as old as me
I'm not as bold as she
Her past lies hidden from me in her own
Gone are the times when together we were never alone
I need to know your yesterdays, the joyous and the gory
Sit yourself down, darlin', I'll listen to your story

Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Act

Old Man walks towards the four youngsters. Asks them whether the road he's on leads to his destination. One of the four knows that Old Man's destination is not a walkable distance away and lets him know that. Old Man shrugs the suggestion away and, with a weary smile on his face, trundles away from the four seeking his destination. As twilight descended on them, the four chat away for some 10-odd minutes reminiscing the pleasant days of yore and part ways.

One of the four, who had guided Old Man along his way, walks in the direction of Old Man hoping to accost him in his way. He does find Old Man a little ahead (Old Man wasn't a fast walker at all. In fact, perhaps the curiosity whether he could walk or not may have led the youngster after him). Old Man seems to be confirming his self-navigation skills with another passerby. The youngster calls for a rickshaw for himself. He ponders whether to offer Old Man a ride to his destination, which seems the right thing to do. Only, an awkward reluctance creeps into him as the rickshaw slows down for him to get in. Old Man hobbles away a few steps ahead. A moment of clear thought and decision hits the young man and he asks the rickshaw driver to wait. He alights and scampers off towards Old Man. He puts out a hand on to Old Man's shoulder to stop him, "Chacha, can I offer you a ride to your destination? It's on the way to where I'm headed". Old Man's tired, cheerful face breaks into a wide, broken-toothed smile. Offering a thanks, he follows the young man into the rickshaw. The young man carries the awkwardness all along the way unsurprisingly as he has done nothing like this before. Instinctively deciding to offer rides to old strangers is certainly not on the young man's everyday to-do list. Very unlike his general tendency, he tries to make small talk with Old Man. A difficult ten minutes pass till they reach Old Man's destination. Old Man cheerily offers his hand and the young man shakes it warmly. The young man watches as the smile gets broader on Old Man's face as he walks away towards his destination. Old Man goes his way but he misses seeing the look of content on the young man's face.

The young man managed a peaceful smile at most that evening as he sat alone in the back of the rickshaw. It was a good feeling. Felt GOOD

Tuesday, August 22, 2006


The letter shivered in his trembling hands as he read the first line.

Dear Ashok,
It’s been over 3 years since we met now. I hope you are in the best of health. I know you have stopped replying to my letters for well over 2 years but all that we have been through together and all our closeness demands that at least I continue to write these monthly letters and (hope to) keep our acquaintance alive.

The vivid images of their wonderful times together flashed before his little eyes. She had loved staring into those eyes for hours together. As innocent 17 year-olds, they would make their daily escapades to the darker corners of the suburb together, away from the prying eyes of the residents of the close-knit chawl … and even more so, the prying eyes of her parents and his old crotchety uncle.

I think this is the right time for me to tell you that Gautam and I are probably going to move to another city. His mother will continue to live with us. The financial problems that we are facing ever since the big row that occurred in Gautam’s last job have eventually succeeded in ousting us from this house. Gautam barely stays at home these days though. He leaves home in the afternoon to return only just before dawn the next day. I am concerned about his health too. The incident has changed his appearance completely. He hasn’t found the time to shave in the last month and his face and body sag with all the pressure and nerves. I am dreadfully worried but he tells me he meets this person everyday who will help us get out of here safely. He tells me everything will be all right…

The handwriting got illegible and scrawny here. He knew she had hurriedly stopped writing at this point because of some interference. The next line explained the same…

My mother-in-law almost caught me writing this yesterday. I managed to stash this letter away just in time otherwise I would have had it trying to explain to her why I was writing a letter to another man. Actually, I did have it yesterday again although for a completely different reason. The beatings occur with greater frequency these days. And with greater intensity. But I think it’s just the pressure on her son these days that is affecting her too. So I still take it all in my stride. Although the pain sometimes is unbearable. I was admitted to the nearby hospital with multiple burns two weeks ago. I had to run away from there to get back home and resume the housework. The doctors had forbidden me from doing that but what do they know about the state of my house and how do they know that my frail mother-in-law cannot do all the housework everyday? I went to a different hospital two days later to cure the blisters on and around my burns as my mother-in-law’s recent caning had left me almost incapacitated. But I was back in her service by that evening.

This letter did not seem any different from the previous ones. He had grown immune to her hardships by now. Or was he just using the word ‘immune’ to mask his actual feeling of absolute apathy and insensitivity? No no… that was not true at all. He had thought this over so many times before. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do for her now. They had parted ways because their dreams were not alike. Her dream was to spend her life fulfilling his dreams. His dream was to spend his life fulfilling his parent’s dreams for him. They had both understood that clearly. She had needed a little coaxing but she had eventually come over and matched his thought. They had both understood their situations well. He was helpless. And the letter did not seem any different from the previous letters. At least not up until this point.

Actually, Ashok, there is a big news that I must disclose to you. Gautam says once we have moved to the new city, our new address should not be known to a single soul. We will all be starting a new life. So I am not sure whether I will be able to write to you once we have moved. I will get adjusted to my new life first and then judge for myself if I can write to you again. Actually I hope I will get to my new life first. The police have raided our home twice last week. Once, Gautam wasn’t home. The second time, he managed to hide himself up a loft in a neighbour’s house. We are counting on our luck to survive another such raid. Also, now I can barely walk at normal speed let alone run, if required. I cough blood too often too. The fresh wounds and fresher burns on my body and especially on my feet have left me looking nowhere as pretty as you thought I looked before. Those wonderful days with you seem like another age… another life. Sometimes, I wonder if we should have fought the odds to be together. But we had our duties to fulfill. You had your duties to fulfill. And I hope you continue to gain the success that you have gained in all this time away from me. In case I do not get to write to you again, remember me. And remember that my best wishes and support will always be with you forever.

Even as he smoothed the creases on the letter, there was no hint of emotion on his face. His hands moved over the areas of the letter which had been smeared once with his tears, now dried with age. His hands moved over the cello-tape that held together the frayed pieces of the sheet. In the last 30 years, he had lost many things and even more people. What he hadn’t lost was this letter. Her last letter to him. Her last letter that he had read everyday for the last 30 years without fail.

A rustle outside the door aroused him back to his senses. He managed to hide the letter behind his back as he turned around to face a young, bald monk entering his room. “Swamiji, the water for your bath is ready”, the young, radiant man said. The old seer adjusted his saffron cloak around him. He smiled at the youngster as the youngster made his exit. Priesthood had left him almost alone for the last 30 years now. Only the temple-folk and the devout villagers gave him company. Conjugal bliss was not for him. He bore no remorse for the days gone by. The chirp of the early sparrow made him turn towards the darkness outside the open window. Within two hours, the day would break and other sparrows would chirp cheerily bringing cheer to the morning. He walked toward the bath. The water, he hoped, would help wash it all away.

Friday, August 18, 2006

I'm back! ... am I?

3 long months have gone
3 long months are past
Seems like I last posted here yesterday
Damn! Time does seem to fly fast

Do I announce my comeback here, I wonder
Or do I disappear for another 3 months
and make this seem yet another blunder

It's a struggle as I write this today
I seem to have lost it with passages in time
A struggle to put in words what I want to say
A struggle to arrange a stupid rhyme

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

The Ghosts of Football Past

It’s like a scene straight out of a movie. I see the goal posts in the distance. I place the football on the line 30 yards away. The rules of rink-football need me to slot the ball in from that distance. There will be no goalkeeper to hinder my cause. As I step up to take the last penalty kick, I know that only I will be the difference between a heroic victory for my team and sudden-death penalty kicks. To add to the spice, it’s the finals of the inter-colony football tournament. The penalty shootout is tied at one apiece and my unexpected success will get us a hard-fought victory from the unlikeliest of sources – me. I step back a few steps and then rush in to connect with the ball. As the ball loops in the direction of the goal, I feel time slow down. I watch the ball swerve leftward toward the left pole and my heart begins to sink in anticipation of a miss. As the ball nears, I suddenly sense that the ball might just hold its line to meet the net between the posts. Suddenly, its not just me but everyone in the ground that senses the same. As if to let the moment of extreme suspense linger, the ball connects with the left upright on its inside and loops toward the right upright. A collective gasp fills the air and the no. of people expecting a goal almost matches the skeptics. Quite tragically, and to serve as a reminder that at most times true life is larger than a fairy tale, the ball bounces away past the right goalpost and the dream is over. Bang! Reality hits me. So do the consolation pats on my back from the teammates. From underdog to stray dog… in a matter of barely 5 seconds. The moment passes and it’s time for sudden death. And just to drive home the distinction between fiction and reality, my team loses the shootout and with it, the match, in sudden death. My missed penalty kick must have lasted for not more than 5 seconds. But the ordeal archived a video of itself in my memory that I’ve replayed in the past year a zillion times.

Almost a year later, on May 14, 2006, the same set of people is back at the same ground to seek retribution. We are faced with penalty shootout again, albeit this time it’s in the semis. Just one goal from us to none of theirs sees us through to the finals and that’s when we know that things cannot go horribly wrong like last year. Thankfully, reality scores over larger-than-life-fairy-tale again and the final does not go to penalties. After taking the lead early into the game, we leave the defense loose to concede one right on the whistle for half-time. The game picks up pace in the second half but a sudden parity-breaker from an unlikely source gives us a lead towards the fag end of the game. The final whistle from the ref a few minutes later signals a euphoric wave through the small ground. The nine players embrace each other in turns even as all the other colony junta joins the elation. Our wait is over. Our moment is here. I might not have played a pivotal role in the victory but I know my ghosts have been laid to rest in the brown soil where I’ve played the most enjoyable football of my life. And as I walk out of the ground with my head held high for once, I am overwhelmed with the thought that this might have been my last game on that ground. But I keep walking with a broad grin on my face and my hands around the shoulders of another equally overjoyed teammate. The moment is surreal and I think of turning back to take what might be my last look at this moment of glory, at this sanctum sanctorum of my football. The moment passes but the video in my memory of the previous year’s agony have now been replaced by the videos of this year’s joy and memories. So, the very next moment, I decide to keep looking ahead instead of looking backward. I won’t look behind me. I’ll just watch the videos in my head instead.

Thursday, May 11, 2006


I think I could kill
I think I could thrill
The mind snowballs around and i just can't fill
these moments of emptiness that seem to be still

It seems easy to lose grip on the rope
Its very last strand, my last remaining hope
But when it's hope that's all ive got
I guess victory will seem sweet once i've fought

The clock won't stop for me, time will run as ever
It is I that must do the chasing... chasing hope into the never

Monday, April 10, 2006

Monday morning = mundane morning?

Feeling the wind in my face while zooming the roads at 100 kmh. That’s how I start most Monday mornings – on my way back to Pune… back to work. Today was different. For one, I was in the driver’s seat instead of the mundane passenger’s. And to add, I was doing 150 kmh. instead of the usual 100. hehe.

OK so this morning I had another of my dreams fulfilled. That would be cruising the expressway at 150 kmh with my hands on the steering wheel. I’m not much of a speed freak for that matter, but I can very well understand the rush now. It’s a surreal, almost orgasmic feeling at 150 kmh with the wind beating your face through the open window.

OK, so not all Monday mornings are blue I guess :)

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Saturday night dive

16 of us, a house minus the parents, 2 guitars, a sound system, an ipod and a continuous flow of alcohol. That sums up to what can be termed as one good Saturday night.

The jamming was sublime to say the least. It’s been awhile since I jammed with another guitar in the house. Fortunately, the second guitar was loud enough and the listeners were adequately sloshed to obscure my flawed chord changes and messed up attempts at simple solos. Good to have my hands feeling up the fretboard after what seems like an eternity to me.

Thanks to this chick for spending so much time trying to teach me to sing seconds. When I first picked up the guitar that evening, she actually wanted me to sing as I played!! I have to comment, she is one hellova singer herself. (This might sound like it, but it isn’t really one of those you-pat-my-back-I-pat-yours sessions. She really is that good). Another note of gratitude to our hostess who did a remarkable job of tolerating our drunk antics.

The drive back home at 0530 hrs Sunday morning was surreal. That reminds me – I just cannot wait to cruise the Mumbai-Pune expressway tomorrow morning. Another dream comes true – getting to cruise the length of the expressway by myself and that too in the Ford!! Droooooool… (I hope I make it to work in one-piece though )

Saturday, April 08, 2006

To fly

Goodbye brown earth, goodbye green grass
It hurts to part, but this too shall pass
I wish to return but now I must fly
For it’s the only way I can touch the sky

"Hello world"

The dawn of a new era? The advent of a new literary revolution?
Naah, just another blog by another John Doe... another neverknown.

neverknown © 2008. Chaotic Soul :: Converted by Randomness